


lawless cake

by beanierose, stutter



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Bon Appetit Test Kitchen AU, F/F, High sugar content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23330089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanierose/pseuds/beanierose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter/pseuds/stutter
Summary: on the paper, she had written “you” and she told me “that’s a list of the people who are standing too close.” (i ain’t your pal.)
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 30
Kudos: 157





	lawless cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [connyhascontrol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/connyhascontrol/gifts).



> **beanie:** our dear friend [conny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/connyhascontrol) has her birthday today!! so it was only fitting that we write something just as gentle and sweet and kind as she is. anybody who knows her is so, so lucky, and to love her is even better. happy birthday, angel baby ♡ (also, collabing with stutter was like, the most fun i've ever had writing? i love you a lot, you villain).
> 
>  **stutter:** Beanie had this unbelievably cute idea to collaborate on a project for Conny’s birthday. And I was like, ugh, fine, but just for Conny, because I can’t stand you personally. If you’ve encountered Conny through her work or her excellent tumblr presence, you know she is an incredibly thoughtful, giving, and warm person. We hope we did her justice, and that you’ll enjoy reading something with all the sugar and softness baked into it that she deserves. And it turns out working with Beanie wasn’t so bad, either. Despite our long-running feud and deep animosity.

The title is from a recipe by the poet Emily Dickinson, which you can read more about [here](https://lithub.com/now-you-too-can-bake-like-emily-dickinson-this-holiday-season/).

* * *

Trixie is annoyed before she’s even all the way awake. It’s her own stupid fault. She was up far too late last night, researching, and now her eyes feel grungy and she is faintly nauseated in that _didn’t get enough sleep_ way. At least she had the wherewithal to pick out her outfit - it’s draped over the back of the pink velvet chair in the corner of her bedroom, and when she had woken up in the night and caught a glimpse of it it’d been anthropomorphic in a way that had made her shriek and pull the covers over her head like a little kid.

Her phone rings while she’s putting on a face, and she swallows a too-hot mouthful of peppermint tea and puts it on speaker, says, “This is an ungodly hour. You do this every day?”

“Good morning, sunshine,” Jinkx crows. She sounds like she’s been up for hours already. She probably _has_ , the swamp witch. “It gets easier.”

“Does all of it get easier?” Trixie grumps. She’s fucked up her eyeliner twice already this morning and her skin feels red raw from scrubbing it off and starting over again.

Today is a big deal. Only a handful of people know that this isn’t just Trixie doing Jinkx a favour and filling in while she’s in DC. Jinkx is _leaving_ , and if today goes smoothly then this is going to be Trixie’s regular gig. She has to get the audience to like her, an audience that is already loyal to Jinkx. An audience that probably isn’t going to take it that well when they find out she’s already filmed her last episode.

“Honey, it _is_ easy,” Jinkx drawls. “You’ve been at a family gathering and someone shoves a kid at you, right?” Trixie shudders and makes a small, discontented noise. “And you know how you just kinda _ooh_ and _aah_ and _uh-huh_ everything they say? Act like they’re real geniuses?”

“Uh- _huh_ ,” Trixie says, and bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing when Jinkx warbles her outrage.

“Right,” Jinkx says. “Well, this is exactly like that. You ask ‘em some questions about their work, you absolutely _don’t_ roll your eyes when they don’t know the difference between flour and sugar, and when they produce a perfectly subpar baked good, you tell them it’s delicious and give them a gold star for the effort.”

Trixie’s makeup is as good as it’s going to get at this juncture. She heads for the bathroom to brush her hair out, and sets her phone down on the side of the sink. “That seems fine, I guess.”

“And then we get a million and a half views and everybody in the comments calls you ‘mom.’ It’s simple.” Trixie, two inches from the mirror, grunts. “What? What’s that noise?”

“They’re gonna do one of those top-down shots the whole time.”

Like, Trixie knows that she’s everything. She also knows which are her good angles, and which make her look like a child’s drawing. A _young_ child, one who is just figuring out basic human proportions.

“Well yeah, muffin,” Jinkx says slowly. “So everyone can see what your hands are doing.”

“Everyone’s gonna stare at my nose.”

Jinkx screeches so loud that Trixie expects her phone to topple right into the sink from the force of it. “Who are you, Marcia Brady? Who cares about your nose? Just put on your biggest eyelashes and a push-up bra. That’s all anybody will be staring at, I promise.”

“Way ahead of you, mama,” Trixie says, and manages an actual smile for the first time this morning.

She’s striking a delicate balance between looking professional, and looking cute. And it’s not because their guest on the show today is one of the most beautiful women Trixie has ever seen. It truly isn’t; they’ll be back to back. It’s not like Katya Zamo is going to be looking at her the entire time.

* * *

“It feels like I should do my due diligence and warn you, miss Trixie, I am _not_ a baker of any kind.”

The cameras aren’t rolling yet, but they’re mic’d and ready and standing side by side at Trixie’s station, waiting to shoot their intro footage. Trixie got here this morning way before Katya did. It had been earlier than she’d ever had to arrive as a recipe tester. She’d felt kind of bad about the fact that she hadn’t been doing any of the prep. She wasn’t the one weighing out two lots of every ingredient and arranging them all in little ramekins, being very careful to mirror the two stations exactly. She had hovered awkwardly for a while, hoping to be useful, until the PA who’d actually been doing it told her to please get out of the way. Instead, she’d had to stand still and let some gangly sound tech clip the mic to her blouse. It’s her favourite, white with a vaguely Baroque pattern, and she’d narrowed her eyes at the poor kid when he’d struggled to get the microphone to stay fixed to the button placket.

Katya had made quite a ruckus when she’d come in. She’d brought coffee for everyone and she insisted on introducing herself to every single person in the kitchen individually. Her publicist, Bob, had rolled her eyes and knuckled her in the spine to keep her moving, until she’d finally gotten to Trixie, waiting right at the far end of the kitchen. Not hiding. That would be childish.

They haven’t had a lot of time to chat, so far, but now there’s really nothing else to do.

“You know what? That’s not true,” Katya says. She’s so cheerful that it’s annoying. Trixie spent all night binge-watching as much of Katya’s back catalogue as she could get her hands on. She thought maybe all of that whimsy was for the cameras, but so far it seems like that’s just how she is. “You know that, uh, that Sculpey clay? Like, the polymer stuff?” Trixie nods. “I made some figurines with it for this special I did a couple years ago that I did in fact bake in a standard oven. One of them did get a little, y’know, Sylvia Plath, but the others were a’okay!”

Trixie squawks loud enough that it makes the sound guy bite out her name from across the room. “Wow, what a weird coincidence. The first time I made a Linzer torte, it weighed itself down with rocks and walked right into the river. Isn’t that crazy? So, don’t worry. Nobody’s perfect!”

It feels good to make Katya laugh. She screams, her head thrown back, and folds her arms over her chest like she’s waiting to be laid to rest. Trixie shoves her hands into the back pockets of her slacks and allows herself to be quietly pleased, since they aren’t rolling yet.

“Cool cool cool,” Bob says. She’s standing next to one of the PAs, leaning over to look at the monitor, but she lifts her eyes to Katya. “Wow. You got any more of those you wanna get out of your system? Got a tight five about David Foster Wallace you were thinking of trying?”

Katya is still grinning, but she tries to school her face into something appropriately apologetic. Trixie watches her do it, and then realises she’s fully just staring now. “I’ll be good, _Roberta_ , I promise. Trixie, have you met my dear friend and confidante Ro _bert_ a?”

“Ten seconds ago,” Bob says. “We met ten seconds ago and you saw the whole thing.” She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose; Katya does a little wriggle on the spot like she’s completely charmed by that. “Please, just, we’re gonna talk about the new special, right? And that’s all?” Bob opens her eyes again and turns to Trixie. “This is why I gotta keep my head shaved. All my hair falls out every time she opens her mouth.”

Trixie nods solemnly. “I’ll keep her in line.”

“Will you!” Katya fidgets with the hem of her ridiculous dress. “What a thrill for me!”

When she had introduced herself, arm stuck straight out to shake Trixie’s hand, Trixie had blurted, “You are not seriously wearing this garment in my kitchen right now,” instead of saying hello like a person.

“It’s food themed!” Katya had said indignantly. “Do you not see these pea pods?”

“No, that’s- it’s just,” Trixie had gestured vaguely at Katya with one hand. “It’s a lot of dangling elements, including your hair, and-”

“But there’s a scarf in it! Here-” Katya had unfastened her ridiculous earrings and held them out for Bob to take. “Is that better? One less dangly element.”

It really isn’t much better, but whatever. No one has to eat what Katya makes except her and Trixie, so it’s not like OSHA are going to be beating down her door. Bob reminds Katya one more time to behave herself, and then they start rolling. Trixie takes a very deep breath, and then tries hard to forget that millions of people are going to see this. She introduces herself, and then Katya, who does a little twirl on the spot and moans loudly.

Of all the fucking people to guest on Trixie’s very first episode, it had to be this actual lunatic. She lets the moment pass without incident, and she tells the camera what they’re going to be making today.

“I love cinnamon rolls!” Katya beams. “We had ‘em in my house growing up sometimes. But ours were the kind that pop out of a canister, y’know, I never tried making them legit before.” Katya bounces on the balls of her feet a couple times. She’s so giddy that it’s rubbing off on Trixie, too, and she can’t wait to actually get started. “Still, they smell like fuckin’ Sunday morning to me, you know what I mean, Trix?”

“Uh-huh.”

The nickname makes her face get hot, and she’s glad she put on so much makeup this morning. She can’t help but be pleased by Katya’s enthusiasm. Trixie’s been in the kitchen before and watched poor Jinkx floundering with some guest who very obviously didn’t want to be there, but Katya isn’t making her work hard at all.

“Well, trust me, once you’ve made them from scratch, you’ll never go back.”

“I can’t wait. Take me on a journey.” Katya spreads her hands in front of her like she’s a pioneer woman encountering the open prairies for the very first time. “I’m so ready to learn.”

They make it through exactly two instructions. Everything is going so smoothly, Katya’s listening carefully and making all the sounds that Trixie expects to hear, and she thinks _okay. Okay, this might not be so bad_. Katya has even managed to use the microwave, and nothing is on fire yet. It’s all fine.

“ _Trixie_!” Katya shrieks, and she jolts and almost drops her Pyrex of hot butter, earning herself a stern look from a PA. She is not supposed to be the one having trouble keeping it together; it isn’t a fun juxtaposition if Trixie messes up too. “This is — AAH! Oh, Trixie, c’mere and look, I got flour everywhere. Oh, god, it’s a war zone. Trixie, I need help!”

“I can’t come look, Katya, because this is Back-to-Back,” Trixie says very slowly and calmly, and Katya makes a pitiful noise. “But I believe in you, okay? We’ll get you some more flour. Right now we’re getting the rest of the ingredients I mentioned into the mixing bowl. So that’s your eggs, your sugar, just a little pinch of salt, and the yeast. And someone will grab-” Trixie makes eyes at the nearest PA, jerking her head in Katya’s direction and making a conscious effort to relax her jaw so her words stop coming out like peanut brittle. “More. . . flour. . . for you. Have you used a stand mixer before? You know how it works?”

Katya huffs. “Oh, please, give me the tiniest bit of credit. If it’s anything like the various appliances I use at home, you grab the controls and thrust it into the highest gear and let the magic happen. Right?” Jesus Christ. There is no way they’re going to be able to use _any_ of this. Trixie’s tongue feels hot and too heavy, and she has to focus so much energy on keeping her face carefully slack that she can’t actually manage a response. “I winked at the camera, Trixie,” Katya goes on. “You can’t see it, but I did. If you’d let me sneak a peek at you, you would have seen it with your own eyes.”

They get through the mixing pretty smoothly. Not that Trixie knows that for sure, since she can’t see what Katya’s doing, but there isn’t any more screaming or clattering or great clouds of flour raining down from the sky like they’re in Pompeii. Once they both have their dough transferred to their bowls and covered over with plastic wrap, their director cuts the cameras.

Katya, startled, whips around to jab an accusatory finger at Trixie’s face. “Hey!”

“Yes, is there something I can help you with?” Trixie wipes her palms against her apron, mostly to give herself something to look at that isn’t Katya’s lovely, exasperated face.

“I don’t get it.” She picks up her bowl of dough and cradles it in both arms against her stomach. “You mean to tell me that this dough, which I’ve slaved over — _slaved_ , Trixie — isn’t even going to make the final cut?”

Trixie presses the back of her hand to her forehead. They explained this multiple times before they started rolling earlier: a PA did, and then Trixie, and then Bob. “I mean, not unless you want to sit here for two hours making small talk.”

“Does that sound so terrible to you?” One of the PAs comes to take the bowl from Katya and she yelps and shakes her head, twisting at the waist to angle herself away. “It doesn’t sound so terrible to me.”

It doesn’t, actually. So far Katya has been charming and silly and sweet, and if Trixie’s entire career weren’t riding on her not messing this up she thinks she might even like her. A lot. Last night, Trixie had been scrolling around on Instagram and debating opening a second bag of SkinnyPop while she watched Katya’s most recent Netflix special. She’d almost fallen out of bed when she’d heard her say, “My ex-girlfriend used to tell me that I was - yes, I see all your shocked faces, I _have_ conned an unfortunate fly or two into my particular spiderweb - I’m talking about my pussy, obviously - I am _technically_ bisexual, but mostly I identify as _extremely lonely_.”

So. There’s that. But there’s also a room full of people, resetting both their stations ready to shoot the next segment. And Bob is inching towards Katya with a compact mirror in one hand and a tube of red lipstick in the other, very slowly like she thinks she might have to shackle her. Trixie cannot imagine how difficult that poor woman’s job must be.

When they start rolling again Trixie can just _feel_ that Katya is going to be awkward about it. It’s coming off of her in waves, little-kid mischief, and Trixie can hear her shifting her weight from foot to foot too. She has so much energy it’s frightening.

“Okay, Katya, so now let’s pull out our proved dough, we’ll just take the plastic wrap right-”

“Ah, yes, _our_ proved dough. Wow!,” Katya cuts in, and Trixie bites down hard on her tongue. “Now, I don’t know about yours, Trixie, but mine is - it’s stunning, it looks professional. You’re a really great teacher, Miss Mattel, I have to say. I can scarcely believe I made this at all.” Trixie catches her producer’s eye behind the monitor, and that motherfucker is _grinning_. She has the dawning suspicion that this whole thing has been designed to see how much Trixie can really handle. “You wanna take a look?”

Trixie pinches her septum between her thumb and index finger and closes her eyes for a moment. “No, Katya, I’m gonna take your word for it,” she says quietly.

It feels good to work with her hands. This is why she does this, this is why she went to culinary school in the first place. Trixie likes to make something from nothing, she likes to feel whatever she’s making come to life beneath her fingers. Katya keeps making these little huffing sounds, and Trixie thinks she might be blowing her bangs out of her eyes, which is. . . cute. She’s pretty cute, in a deeply annoying way. Trixie’s glad that she doesn’t have to look at Katya, and hyper-aware of the three different cameras pointing at her right now. Capturing her stupid flustered face for prosperity.

Making the filling goes smoothly, since it is literally just mixing pre-measured sugar and cinnamon together in a bowl. Trixie knows she can be a bit of a brat, and she’s really trying not to make Katya feel bad. It isn’t her fault that she’s not a professional chef, and it does seem like she’s doing her best. That’s more than most of the guests Jinkx has ever had.

“Okay, Katya, and now we’re going to take that long kind of snake of dough that we made, and we’re going to start to roll it up, and that’s how we’ll get that shape-”

“What shape?” Katya cuts in. Trixie is suddenly very aware of a warm presence right at her back. “Lemme see what you’re doing, show me what shape you’re talking-”

“It’s just a-” Trixie turns her head and Katya is _right there_ , like two inches from Trixie’s face. “KATYA! Get back to your station! Oh my god, that is the whole _point_ , you’re not supposed to look!”

Katya pouts at her. She’s so close, leaning over Trixie’s shoulder with her hand against Trixie’s bicep for balance. Trixie can smell her cologne now, over the yeasty smell of the dough. “But yours looks so gooood!” Katya says right into her ear. “Do you wanna just switch?”

“Do I want to-” Trixie looks right at her camera and shakes her head.

Katya is thrumming with glee next to her, bouncing up and down on her toes so her skirt swishes in a way that is definitely going to piss off their sound guy. “Switch with me, c’mon. Take my workstation. Yours looks so much better.”

“Take a big step back, girl.” Trixie holds out both hands, palms towards Katya like she’s threatening to shove her. “Then another one. Then turn around. And roll. Your goddamn. Snake up. . . stop looking!”

Trixie’s tone is sharp enough that Katya behaves herself for the rest of the time. It feels like the entire room takes a collective inhale when Katya has to pick up a knife and actually slice up her dough log to form the cinnamon rolls, but she manages it without hurting herself or anybody else. The cameras are cut again while they bake, and Katya is allowed to go outside for a cigarette. Trixie feels so thrown off-balance today that she almost asks to join her.

As soon as Katya is gone from the kitchen, Bob with her — to stop her launching herself into traffic, Trixie can only assume — multiple heads in the room turn to Trixie. She scowls and takes herself off to the bathroom, sits on the closed toilet seat with her head in her hands.

It’s not _fair_.

This is her big break, this is her chance to actually have a show for herself instead of occasionally appearing in the background of her colleagues’ videos. And instead of getting to calmly, gently explain the thing she loves best to a sane and rational human being, she’s saddled with the most chaotic person she thinks she’s ever met in her whole life.

She lets herself have two minutes to stare at the bathroom floor and lament her imminent unemployment, and then she gets up and puts a little more powder on her nose to head back out there.

* * *

“Trixie,” Katya says. Her mouth is full of cinnamon roll, and she’s already run a little lap around the prep bench because the bite she took was so hot. She went right out of the frame; Trixie cannot even imagine how they’re going to be able to edit this all together.

“Yes, Katya.”

“You are a very good baker. These are very good. These are so very _fucking_ good.” Her eyes get wide, and she looks to Bob. “Can I swear on here?”

A shrill laugh bursts out of Trixie. “You’ve been doing it the whole time! Why are you asking permission now that we’re done?”

“Oh, the madness has passed. My vision is coming back, the panic is subsiding.” Katya grabs Trixie’s wrist in her free hand and squeezes tight, shakes Trixie’s fist around in the air. “Thank god for your level head. I swear, I was in a fugue state that whole time, anything I confessed to can’t be used against me in court, okay?”

“Too bad,” Trixie deadpans. “You’re telling me I wore this wire for nothing?”

Katya screams again, her mouth open so wide. It’s kinda nice, how she doesn’t make Trixie really work for it. She’s quick to laugh, quick to unfurl and turn her face towards the sun. “You are _funny_. And you are a very good baker.”

“Sure,” Trixie says. “Well, thank you. Next time, I’ll come to one of your shows and you can coach me through how to perform a stand-up set.”

Katya lets go of Trixie’s wrist, finally, and tears off another piece of her cinnamon roll to chew. It’s like she’s talking with her mouth full on purpose, and Trixie wrinkles her nose when Katya says, “You’d probably be great. You’re one of those very annoying girls who’s good at everything, aren’t you?”

Trixie feels pink embarrassment begin to bloom up her neck and into her cheeks, and she clears her throat. She catches her producer’s eye again and he signals for her to wrap up. Next to her, Katya is munching happily on her cinnamon roll and making these little contented noises. It’s not _not_ attractive.

“Katya!” Trixie says, because she cannot go down that road right now. She won’t do it. “If people want more of you, where can they go?”

“To your front door, Trixie, because I’ll be banging it down for more baked goods until the end of time.” Trixie just stares at her, agape, and then Bob makes a gesture in the air like she’s throttling her, and Katya’s eyes get wide. “And my new special, _Midnight in the Garden of Trish and Evil_ , is now streaming! Please watch it.”

“Okay, thanks for watching, uhh, _bye_!” Trixie says.

It’s weird to go from everybody’s focus being on her to just kind of drifting into the background again. The PAs start clearing both the prep counters, and Katya tries to insist that she be allowed to help but Bob is already hustling her towards the elevator. Trixie stands with her hands in the back pockets of her pink slacks and does her best not to get in anybody’s way.

Like, she’s getting fired, right?

She tried so hard to keep it together, and the cinnamon rolls actually came out just fine, but Katya is. . . Katya is a lot of fun, and not someone Trixie needs to interact with in a professional capacity ever again. Trixie suddenly feels very hot, her blouse turning translucent and beginning to stick to the insides of her arms. She tells one of the PAs she’s going to go grab a drink and flees the kitchen. She doesn’t even realise that she’s still wearing her stupid pink apron until she catches sight of herself in the elevator mirror, and she pulls it off and folds it over her arm instead.

It’s very bright out in the street, and so she doesn’t see Katya at all at first, doesn’t notice her until she yells Trixie’s name. She’s dangling an unlit cigarette between two fingers. Bob is nowhere to be seen; they’re alone together for the first time.

“Trixie,” Katya says again. “Hi. That was fun. Did you have fun? I had fun.”

Trixie comes to stand next to Katya and lean against the brick edifice of the building opposite the office. “Sure. No, it was. It was fun. If you had a good time, that’s- then I’m glad. You’re so funny.”

“Me?” Katya puts one hand to her own chest and widens her eyes. “Oh, please. Hey, I heard it was your first show. I just wanna say, I think you did _swell_.” Trixie chokes on a high, hysterical bubble of laughter. “Honestly! Cool, calm, and collected. I wanted to make you laugh because I thought you seemed nervous. I hope I didn’t make things worse.”

Her stupid face is so earnest. She has this little snag between her eyebrows and her mouth is open. She’s really. . . she’s very pretty. Trixie swallows roughly.

“That’s. . . no. Katya, no you didn’t. That’s so sweet. Thank you.” Trixie pauses, and Katya just stares her down, and her eyes are so blue and gorgeous that Trixie shivers. “Okay. I’m lying. You were a fucking nightmare.”

Katya shrieks, delighted by that, and stomps her feet. It makes Trixie laugh too and she shakes her head. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to cause you any significant amount of distress.”

“S’okay,” Trixie shrugs.

There’s a beat where they just look at each other. Trixie likes Katya’s bangs and how they flop over her forehead, how only she could pull off this insane dress and a matching hair scarf. She _likes_ her, she just does, even if she’s probably going to get fired because of her.

“May I make a small request?” Katya says quietly. She’s much, much more calm now that it’s just the two of them.

Trixie groans and hides her face in both hands, says, “Oh, god, what?” into the cup of her palms.

“Next time you bake me something, can I watch you do it?” She stops there, and when Trixie lifts her head to look at her again one corner of her mouth tugs up in a little grin. “I really like looking at you, it turns out.”

Trixie makes a tiny little squeak like a tennis shoe against a gymnasium floor. “Oh wow,” she manages to say. “You’re just gonna. . . okay. Sure.”

“I don’t know if you did any research, but I’m like, a bisexual person,” Katya says. “And you have an _energy_ about you. I’m so sorry if that’s- if I overstepped.”

“Oh, no, I’m a big lesbian,” Trixie blurts, and it makes Katya tip her face towards the sky in joy. There’s another beat of silence. It isn’t uncomfortable; it’s kind of nice, actually. Eventually, Trixie manages to say, “Hey. You seemed very attached to your dough. If you wanted, I could rescue it from the garbage-” Trixie ignores Katya’s outraged gasp. “And, uh. . . you could come over to my apartment and we could bake it?”

* * *

“Baby!” Katya bellows from the bedroom, and Trixie startles so hard that she drops her little thing of moisturiser into the sink. It splatters, and she runs her fingertip through it to gather it up and rub it into her hands, at least. It was too expensive to waste.

When she’s done, her face shiny and pink with all of her skincare products, she pads out of the bathroom in her bare feet. Katya is on her knees on the mattress and bouncing, the laptop open in front of her. She’s in her underwear; Trixie has learned that Katya spends most of her time in just her underwear, when she’s at home.

“What’s the matter?” Trixie says.

“Hello hi!” Katya grins. “You smell so good, would you come here please.” She waits until Trixie gets into bed next to her, and then frames her face in both hands and leans in to kiss her. Still, weeks in, Trixie’s stomach does a little flip. “God, you’re so gorgeous. Hi. How are you?” Katya says against her mouth.

Trixie laughs and arranges herself more comfortably beneath the sheets. She pillows her cheek against Katya’s warm, bare shoulder, and gets a kiss to the crown of her head. “I am just as fine as I was when I went into the bathroom. Why are you yelling?”

“It’s up,” Katya says very seriously.

She wiggles two fingers on the laptop’s trackpad to wake it, and the YouTube channel pops up with the video already waiting. Trixie did get an email earlier today to warn her that it was going up tonight, but she still feels a little sick with panic seeing it actually right there. Katya touches two fingers to Trixie’s chin so she’ll turn her head, and she kisses her again. It’s always sweet, always soft and wonderful, and Trixie hums a small, contented noise.

“You ready?” Katya asks.

Trixie takes a deep breath, and laces her fingers with Katya’s to squeeze tight. “I’m ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> beanie can be found on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie), and stutter can be found nowhere! feedback is the icing on our cinnamon buns ♡


End file.
